


empty out

by Chiropter



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Gen, somewhat disturbing imagery i guess maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:24:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiropter/pseuds/Chiropter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King would like to hurt a certain somebody very, very much. How nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	empty out

**Author's Note:**

> teensy tiny drabble i wrote for an anon prompt on tumblr  
> i haven't written anything like this in a while so i decided to post it  
> hm
> 
> kill me // ousama&hitori
> 
> \----WARNING: major spoilers for holiday star---

It's light when the King awakes.

He was never really sleeping, of course- the very notion is silly, for this is paradise, and who could sleep?- but sometimes, the King and his subjects sort of drift away a little, dreaming behind swathes of misted black. 

The King likes that. The dark is quiet, and calm, and never hurt anybody. 

Never hurt anybody. Oh, but the King would like to hurt somebody- he would like to hurt that somebody very, very much. How calm, how soothed would the King feel then? Once he's made amends, he knows he won't feel angry. Maybe then he'll have a friend again.  
The light obscures the dream somewhat; he has a kingdom to rule, after all. In the dark, though, the King can see it perfectly, like lines on a map. That dot there is where he'll make the first cut. That dot _there_ is where he'll kiss it better, and beside it where he'll wrap ragged wings round stolen throat, where he'll squeeze and pull and crush, where hot tears and broken gasps will fall on deafened ears-

The King feels tears prick his own eyes, and brushes a feather against his own throat. Memories are coursing through him where blood ceased long ago. To choke like that, to spit and cry and beg like that- he never before appreciated the beauty in it, although it's all so familiar, so raw and awful and

wonderful

and

nononononononononononono-

It's light when the King awakes. This is a rarity, isn't it? Wasn't it? No, it can't be. It's always light on the Holiday Star.

The King misses sleeping. He remembers a time, not so long ago, when he would sleep all day, all night, all week. It was so easy, not to think or dream or move, and the lack of responsibility most welcome. It's in the past, though. Everything sparkles here; everything glitters and demands to be attended to, and the King shoulders his responsibility with pride, for isn't that what Kings promise to do? Promises are very important. He learnt that from someone.

Someone

who now writhes and sobs beneath him, broken tongue and broken beak forming shapes round voiceless song, eyes shut tight and crusted with blood. Shh, shh, the King soothes him softly, it’s all alright, it’s all quite alright, the King hates you, you see, but that can be fixed- everything can be forgiven- everything- will be fine-  
The King rocks and moans inside his castle, afraid and lonely with briars knotting in his chest. He’s filling up, his subjects restless and growing warmer within him. It’s all okay. He quiets them by pouring acid down his throat.

It’s light when the King awakes. His bones are lighter today, the veil of calming dark pushed right to the edge of his vision. He ruffles his feathers, and his veins are pounding, and he knows.

His friend has come to play.


End file.
